


Isolation

by roguewrld



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Agents of SHIELD, Clint's therapist is HYDRA, Gaslighting, Implied Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not canon compliant for AoU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguewrld/pseuds/roguewrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past two years of Clint's life haven't gone so well, okay?</p><p>Post New York, Clint finds himself increasingly isolated within SHIELD until an incident gets him reassigned to an remote base know as 'The Heap' where he expects to spend the rest of his career guarding a literal pile of garbage. Then things get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta read but since it will be totally jossed on Friday, I wanted to post it anyway. This was my entry for the canceled Hawkeye Minibang and involves Clint after New York as he tries to get his life back together after losing Phil. 
> 
> Reasonably canon compliant with Agents of SHIELD through "The Dirty Half Dozen"

July 2011   
(Roughly one year after the events of IM2, CA:TFA, Hulk and Thor)

His phone was ringing. It was four AM and Clint would have let it go to voicemail if the screen wasn’t showing Phil’s name. Instead, he groped for his hearing aid and answered. “Hello?”

Phil didn’t say hello back. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah.” They hadn’t seen each other in weeks but Clint didn’t think that was a come-on. “Are we being deployed?”

“No. I’m coming home. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Phil also didn’t say goodbye before he hung up.

Clint stared into the darkness of their bedroom for a few minutes, almost falling back asleep sitting up, before he stumbled into the kitchen, started the coffee pot, and dragged his mission gear out of the front closet. Phil had been on loan to a project he couldn’t talk about for almost a year, his trips home scheduled weeks in advance. This was work related, no matter what Phil had said on the phone.

He stared at the coffee maker, as if his attention would make it brew faster. The lights on the security system panel by the door changed color and the front door opened. “Welcome home.”

Phil was standing in the doorway, significantly more rumpled than usual and he was staring at Clint's gear like he’d never seen it before. “Where are you going?”

“You tell me.” Clint got up from the table. “Do we have time to sleep? You look like you’re going to fall over.”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Phil looked away from the bag and met Clint’s eyes. His own were bloodshot and he looked plain worn out. “Will you lay down with me?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Phil.” Clint took his hand and guided him down the hall towards their bedroom. “How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know.” Phil sat on the edge of the bed. He managed to get his shoes and coat off before the knot of his tie was too much for him. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.” Clint loosened Phil’s tie and undid the buttons of his shirt.

No one would tell him anything about Phil’s project but Fury had assured him it was administrative, that Phil wasn’t in any danger and didn’t need two of the world’s greatest assassins watching over him. It wasn’t the first time Fury had lied to him.

“Which Tuesday?” Phil left his pants in a pool of fabric on the floor and crawled under the covers. He lay on his back and stared in the general direction of that weird mark on their ceiling.

Clint eyed the pants and wondered if the world was ending. “It’s April.”

“Oh.” Phil’s eyes slid shut. “You said you’d lay down with me.”

He had and Clint tried to keep his promises. He turned off the lights and got into bed. As soon as he was under the covers, Phil pulled him into a tight embrace. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Phil’s rambling answer did nothing to reassure Clint. “I just wanted to come home. I couldn’t… I wanted it to work so badly, Clint. It was wrong. I made them shut it down. I won’t let them do that to anyone else, I made her promise me.”

“Okay.” Clint squeezed back, hoping it was reassuring. Phil's grip only let up when he fell asleep and even then he didn't roll away.

Clint couldn't sleep in someone's arms like that but he didn't want to wake Phil up by moving away. That meant he was still awake when his phone started vibrating on the nightstand. "Now what?" At least he hadn't taken out his hearing aid yet. He reached past Phil and grabbed the phone before it plunged to its death. It was a blocked call, which meant work. "This is Barton."

"Is he with you?" Fury's voice came from the speaker. There weren’t many people Clint wanted to talk to less, right this very minute.

The light from the screen was enough for Clint to see by. Phil looked exhausted, even asleep. "He's here but-"

"Good." Was that relief in Fury's voice? "Tomorrow you can tell him his resignation is not accepted. You have two weeks leave then I'm reassigning both of you to PEGASUS."

“Resignation?” Clint pulled the bathroom door shut. “Sir, with all due respect, what the hell did you do to him? Where has he been?”

“He was doing his job.” Silence. Then, “He made the right call. You can tell him we shut it down. I need him at PEGASUS. You’re going with him.”

“What the hell are we going to do in Wyoming?” PEGASUS was in the middle of nowhere, even by SHIELD standards, and they did scientific research. Clint couldn’t imagine much use for him there.

“I need Coulson to head up an R&D project. You’re going along to be my eyes on the researchers.” That was a terrible pun but one Fury never got sick of. “Two weeks. I need him back to work.”

“Sir? I have patched him up for you, more than once, but he is strung out, exhausted and incoherent. I need to know what you did to him.” Phil loved his job, no matter what it did to him, and in the morning he’d have changed his mind and wanted to go back anyway. Clint just needed to know where to apply the patches.

“This assignment is a gift, Barton. The man has limits, even if he acts like he doesn’t. I pushed him too far. If bribing him with regular access to you gets him to come back, he can have it.”

The line went dead. Did they take away your ability to be polite on the phone when you hit Level 8?

Clint went back to bed and plastered himself against Phil’s back, arm thrown over his hip. “I’m glad you’re home. Even if we are being shipped to the ass end of nowhere.” 

* * *

  
“I actually think I like it here.” They’d dragged lawn chairs up to the roof of the facility and were drinking beer and staring out at the scrub lands.

“You’re not bored?” Phil reached across the gap between their chairs and started massaging Clint’s knuckles.

“Not really. No one’s shooting at me, I get to creep out Doctor Selvig by staring a lot, you and I are in the same place for once.” Clint actually couldn’t remember the last time they’d spent more than a week straight together. “I know you have to crack the whip on the R&D guys but this is light duty for me.”

“It’s been quiet. Quiet makes me nervous.”

Phil always worried too much. This assignment was practically paradise. 


	2. Chapter 2

December 2012 (During the events of IM3)

There was a hands-off order on Stark, the Secretary wanted to keep SHIELD out of his latest disaster, but Clint couldn’t stop watching the news coverage. As soon as he saw the house fall into the ocean, Clint knew he was about to do something stupid.

Someone from SHIELD should have been there. Phil should have been there, and it was Clint’s fault that Phil wasn’t anywhere anymore so he needed to take care of it.

He’d “borrowed” SHIELD planes before without too much trouble but back then he’d had Natasha to watch his back and he’d been getting more than four hours of sleep a night. So really, Clint wasn’t surprised when someone grabbed him by the boots and hauled him out from under the plane.

Agent Blake had his sidearm out and it was pointed at Clint’s head. “Going somewhere, Barton?”

Clint slowly raised his hands. “I can explain.” 

* * *

  
Clint spent twenty four hours in the brig before Sitwell came to spring him. He dragged a chair in front of Clint’s cell and just stared at him for a good ten seconds. “You’re trying to get yourself killed. Admit it.”

“I’m not.” Clint didn’t have a death wish, he was just tired. And slow. He was getting slow.

“Stark’s alive. Miss Potts took care of all his problems for him, like she always does.” Clint really didn’t like the way Sitwell was staring at him. “Eric Selvig has been institutionalized, did you know that? He had a mental break. He’s extremely paranoid and anxious. Things like the stunt you pulled today make it hard to trust you, Barton.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Sitwell had been cutting him slack and Clint knew it but this was no reason to stop playing along. Clint did stupid things sometimes, everyone knew that. “Someone should have gone out there.”

“I’m not Phill, I am not willing to stalk Pepper Potts until she admits she wants our help. You’re on suspension for two weeks,” Sitwell got up and punched a code into the door, “And you’ll be meeting with psych on a regular basis. If you don’t, I’m pulling you off the roster.”

"I'm sorry if I brought this down on you, sir." Sitwell wasn't Phil, he didn't have years of favors to call in from Fury when Clint screwed up. "Guess Phil should have left you a manual."

"He did." Sitwell rolled the door back. "I just think it's unprofessional to sleep with agents under my command. Go home, Barton. Get some sleep, you look like hell."

* * *

  
"So, really, it could have gone worse." The mark on the ceiling wasn't a water stain, they'd checked more than once. It was just there, and Clint found himself staring at it more and more. It let him drift.

"It can always be worse, Clint." He was pretty sure Natasha was rolling her eyes at him, he didn't need to see her to know that. "Blake could have killed you."

"I know." Maybe he should paint the ceiling. This probably wasn't healthy. "I got sloppy."

"No kidding. Take a vacation, come to DC. I haven't seen you in a while."

"I have things to do." Laundry, maybe. Mount Washmore was out of control.

"You just told me you were suspended. It can't be that important. Get a laundry service." Sometimes he hated how perceptive Natasha was. The rest of the time they were being shot at. "When I took this job you told me you were sleeping better and that Captain America needed a babysitter more than you did. You lied to me, Clint."

He also hated it when she sounded disappointed in him. "I'm sorry. I'll be down to DC soon, I promise."

* * *

  
January 2013

The shrink, Agent Little, was missing an eye. Her fake was good, it probably fooled most people. Clint wasn't most people. "I was a field agent. After I was injured, SHIELD paid for me to finish my Master's degree. Sitwell thought you might get along better with someone who had a vague clue of what you go through in the field."

"I appreciate it." She was hard to look at. Her nails, neatly manicured, were painted the shade of blue he associated with Loki.

Little poured herself a cup of coffee and set one at his elbow. "What happened to you and your role in the attack on the helicarrier is highly classified so of course everyone knows. Are you having problems with anyone?"

"I'm not allowed on the Carrier anymore." With Strike Team Delta permanently disbanded, Clint was mostly doing solo work for Sitwell when he came into town. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere on his own, his flight privileges had been revoked.

"That's not an answer, Clint."

"I get muttered at a lot. No one is willing to work with me." He wasn't going to name names, if that was what she was after. "I got Phil killed. That's not something I can forgive myself for, let alone ask other people to forget."

"Were you and Agent Coulson close?" She was making notes.

"Yeah. We'd been together a long time." They'd talked about getting married, after the laws had changed in New York but Phase Two had been in full swing. They hadn't managed to get a week away. Clint had bought a ring anyway, in a fit of optimism.

"Together." Was that disbelief in her voice? "I knew Coulson. Not well, but well enough to be introduced to Audrey at the Christmas party."

"He introduced her to everyone last Christmas. I think the guys in the mailroom got an introduction too." He was going to have to tell Audrey about this the next time he saw her. She'd been on his arm half the night but people were sorta clueless. "He dated women sometimes. It wasn't a secret."

One eyebrow went up. "You didn't mind that he was having an affair?"

"It's only an affair if it's secret. We were just modern. Polyamorous." Clint had been expecting questions about his state of mind, not his sex life. "Look, I loved him and he loved me, but if I had to sit through one more symphony I was going to repel from a balcony. It worked for us."

Something shifted in her expression. "'I'm sorry if I hit a sore spot. Let's move on. Agent Sitwell said you weren't sleeping well." 

* * *

  
May 2013

He spent the anniversary of the battle hiding out with Audrey. It seemed slightly more dignified than going to DC and crashing on Natasha's sofa.

She hugged him as soon as she opened the door. "You look terrible."

Many years spent around Natasha, Melinda, Bobbi and Maria... Actually, now that Clint thought about it all the women he worked with were pretty terrifying. They'd managed to beat some sense into him over the years. "Nice to see you too."

She was stiff on the right side, a sure sign she'd been playing too long and gripping her bow too tight. His own hands were bandaged where he'd broken his calluses open. "Do you want me to work on that shoulder?"

"You can't be in much better shape than I am." Her fingers brushed his bandage. "Yes, of course I want you to work on my shoulder."

They ordered takeout and drank cheap wine in their underwear on the couch while Die Hard played on network TV with a million commercial breaks and bleeped curse words.

He couldn't get to her shoulder from the position they were in so he worked on her hands instead. The tendons were tight like rubber bands and Clint rubbed them gently as John McClane cut his feet open. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Audrey's eyes had drifted shut and she was a warm weight against his chest.

"When did Phil tell you about me?" Little hadn't gone as far as accusing him of lying. It still bothered him, that she hadn't heard so much as a rumor about him and Phil.

"The first time he came back to my place. He didn't want there to be any confusion." Clint almost caught an elbow in the ribs as she straightened up and turned to look at him. "The word non-negotiable was used."

That actually made Clint feel a lot better. For Phil that was practically a confession of undying love.

"I knew what I was getting into, Clint." She kissed him, slowly, then reached for the hem of his t-shirt. "Don't feel guilty about getting Lola or-"

Clint grabbed her hands, cold panic settling over him. "I don't have Lola. I thought you had Lola." Where the hell was the car? Jesus, they were lucky Phil wasn't haunting them 24/7.

"You don't think Nick kept her?" Audrey sounded as horrified as Clint felt. "His car has that AI in it and he's got a whole helicarrier. Why would he want Lola?"

"He wouldn't." Fury had mocked Phil endlessly about Lola. "Maybe it's in the hanger on the carrier." Not that Clint could go check.

Audrey paused the movie. "I think he loved us more than the car. It's probably fine."

"Yeah." Most days. Days when it had been clear, sunny, and over seventy degrees, Clint wasn't sure.

"I dream about him all the time. You don't think he'd really haunt us over a car, do you?"

Clint dreamed about him too. "It does fly."

* * *

June 2013

"May I ask you a personal question?" Agent Little had a stack of what Clint assumed was his personnel file.

"You never ask me anything but personal questions." Also, her couch seemed more uncomfortable every week. Was she putting bricks in it?

She closed the cover and looked him over. "What you tell me in here can be kept fully confidential as long as you're not threatening to harm someone, so I need you to be honest with me. Did you join this organization voluntarily?"

"What?" That got Clint to sit up straight. "Of course I did. Listen, you can't believe everything you hear. May didn't have a horse and I didn't sign my employment contract in my own blood."

She slid a more battered looking file from the bottom of the pile. "This is Coulson's report on your recruitment. Have you ever read it?"

"No." He'd been there, he hadn't needed to read it.

"Let me know if I'm misinterpreting anything." She flipped open to the first page. "Agent Coulson approached you to do a hit, posing as a private client. The two of you spent most of the operation flirting and after you completed the assignment he bought you breakfast."

"It was too late to get drinks." Clint was sort of surprised Phil hadn't written that down too.

She flipped the page. "He identified himself as a SHIELD agent and presented you with a job offer. That Friday, the two of you went to dinner. Afterwards, you went back to his apartment and didn't leave until the next morning."

Clint wondered if he was supposed to feel ashamed about that. "He made me scrambled eggs and toast. That not in there?"

"He didn't file an expense report on the toast." She wasn't getting the reaction she had expected, Clint could tell. She thrust the file at him. "Did you know Agent Coulson was ordered to recruit you by any means necessary? Recruit you, or terminate you."

"I did." Phil had told him, after they'd had sex, and he wasn't surprised to see the fairly detailed report on their first date. "You know, this explains a couple things? All Phil's Christmas gifts that year had a honey pot theme."

"This isn't a joke, Clint." Little's composure was slipping a little. "You don't care that he seduced you on orders from his boss?"

"He didn't. I'd already signed when I showed up to take him to dinner." The sex had just been a nice signing bonus. "I don't like what you're implying. He didn't do anything wrong."

"Clint," And now she sounded sad, and gentle. "The two of you were together a long time. Why didn't you get married?"

"We would have had to go back to New York." Clint didn't like talking about this. He didn't have a lot of regrets about his time with Phil, but he wished like hell they'd managed the trip. "Fury had kittens when we tried to put in for leave."

"He was going to Portland on a regular basis."

It all came back to Audrey. "Are you seriously still having a time with this? Lady, I'm still going to Portland on a regular basis. What the hell do you think Phil did to me?"

"I think Agent Coulson took advantage of a young asset. He tied you to this organization through a relationship he documented in cold, clinical detail." Little tapped the stack of folders. "In the time you were together, he pursued long-term outside relationships with four other people."

"And we're done." Clint stood up from the uncomfortable couch.

Little just steamrolled on. "But you know what really bothers me, Clint? This." She drew a slim pamphlet from another file. "I can help you, Clint. You don't owe SHIELD anything."

The cover said, 'Hawkeye: Care and Feeding' in Phil's handwriting. "What is it?"

"It's your user manual." 

* * *

Excerpts from ' _Hawkeye: Care and Feeding_ '

Clint believes that his value to SHIELD lies in his physical abilities. When he's injured, he should be reminded on a regular basis that he is also a tactical genius and there is a place for him in Operations if he's ever done jumping off tall things.

...

Clint is largely immune to yelling, due to his difficult upbringing. Unless you're as intimidating as the people who beat him as a child, don't even bother.

...

Post-missions that required long shifts in a sniper's nest, Clint will be very tense. I recommend a back rub and/or blowjob. Afterwards, you should put him in the tub.

* * *

The arrow stuck into the wall above Sitwell’s monitor with a satisfying thunk. He didn’t even look away from his screen. “Good afternoon, Barton.”

“I don’t understand you.” Phil had considered Sitwell a friend. Clint wouldn’t have worked with him otherwise. “I thought you were his friend. Why are you trying to convince my shrink that Phil was some kind of monster?”

“I thought I knew him, until I had to take over his files.” Sitwell reached back and pulled the arrow out of the well and dropped it onto his desk. “Then I found out Coulson thought of all of us as tools and you and I both know how well he took care of his things.”

There were more, then. “I want Audrey’s.” Sitwell yanked a desk drawer open and tossed a booklet across the desk. “We weren’t things to him. He was a giant dork who wore Captain America boxers every Tuesday and he owned ten identical suits, okay? This is how he showed he cared.”

Sitwell slumped back into his chair and Clint realized he looked exhausted. Weary, eyes bloodshot, and he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. He pointed at the booklet. “That? That is not normal, Clint. I know your life has been such a train wreck that this seems okay to you, but it’s not. There’s one for the Director. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“Learn how to mix him the perfect gin and tonic.” Or whatever else Phil had been doing for Fury to keep him sane. “They weren’t sleeping together, if that’s what you’re worried about reading.” Clint slipped Audrey’s booklet into his carry-on bag. “I’m going away for the weekend. When I get back, you need to drop this. No more telling Little crazy conspiracy theories about Phil.” 

* * *

  
He called Natasha from the back of a cab on the way to the airport. “I don’t think Sitwell’s up to the stress of Level Eight. He’s getting squirrely.”

“He’s getting squirrely? What about me? Today Steve jumped out of a plane without a parachute.” Natasha wasn’t slurring but her accent changed when she got drunk.

“Who is that? Is that Clint?” Sharon, on the other hand, sounded drunk. “Clint, come visit us. This is the saddest detail I’ve ever pulled.”

“Sorry, I’m on my way to Portland.” Sharon was the kind of agent Level Ones talked about with hearts in their eyes. He’d never heard her complain before. “He’s can’t be that bad, he’s Captain America.”

“Oh, Captain America is fine, even if he’s reckless. Nat, can you top me up?” He heard a cork pop. Oh, god, they were drinking cheap champagne, that was a bad sign. “Except I don’t live next to Captain America. I live next to Steve Rogers.”

Natasha wrested her phone back. “And Steve? Steve is sad. This is not supposed to be my job, Clint. What am I supposed to do with a sad super hero?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t like Clint was an expert on Captain America. After a few years, Phil’s collection and occasional excited rambling just faded into the background. “Maybe I can come out next month. He likes baseball, we can catch a Nationals game.”

“I’ve got to get him out of the house more, at least for Sharon’s sake.” Somewhere in the background, Sharon toasted Natasha. “What kind of woman do you think a socialist from the forties would like?”

Clint hung up on them. Even looking at Steve made him miss Phil and Clint just wasn’t getting involved.

* * *

  
“It’s practically a sonnet.” Audrey sounded stunned and she wiped at her eyes. “Where did you find this?”

Clint put an arm around her, glad that someone understood. “Sitwell had them. I don’t know why. Maybe he’s got the damn car too. I don’t know what’s wrong with him lately.” Clint peered over her shoulder. “Am I supposed to be buying you random tacky things when I travel?”

“The randomer the better. Am I supposed to be checking you for bullet holes when you come visit?” Her hand skimmed over his ribs, where he had scar from buckshot that he hadn’t quite dodged.

“That happened once.” He was never going to hear the end of it, either.

She forced herself to set it down and stood. “Come on. You said you’d do my makeup.”

* * *

  
Sitwell looked better on Monday when Clint came into his office. At least he’d slept and put on clean clothes. He almost tripped over the go-bag in the middle of the floor. “Should I even unpack?”

“No.” Sitwell slid a photo across the desk. “Wheels up in five.”

The photo was of a metahuman SHIELD had been watching for years. He secreted some kind of hormone that he used to control and manipulate people. They tended to wake up six months after a date with a very nice man as a sex worker in a foreign country. Even before Loki, Clint had always considered the man miserable scum but he was the brother of someone important. Every time the order had been issued to take him out, someone got cold feet at the last minute. “Really?”

“Really.” Grab your gear. I want to get this done before someone has a chance to complain.” If this was an apology, Clint would take it. “And Barton?”

“Yes, sir.” Clint slid the photo into a pocket. He would need to hustle down to his quarters to get his stuff if they were really leaving in five minutes.

“Can we at least admit his hobby was creepy? I had to clear out his desk.” Sitwell unlocked a drawer and holstered his sidearm.

“You should have seen his storage unit. He had a copy of the Howling Commandos Tijuana Bible all the Cap fans think was actually illustrated by Steve Rogers.”

Clint was so happy to be finally putting their target six feet under he didn’t stop to think how against protocol the whole mission was.  
\---  
“Would you at least think about leaving New York? There’s nothing keeping you there.”

“I do think about it.” Their New York apartment was the only real home he’d had, with it’s weird ceiling stain and not enough storage and Phil’s taste in all the furniture and paint. He should have moved to the Hub months ago when Sitwell had but Clint just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sell this place, couldn’t let someone else live here.

“DC is a nice city, you know.” Natasha was getting less subtle. “I was thinking about the last time I actually saw you in person. It’s been over a year.”

“I know what you want, but I can’t.” Clint had been out to the Triskelion once and Fury hadn’t been able to look at him. Clint had taken the hint, he wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone important when Phil died. “Fury doesn’t want me there.”

“That’s an excuse and you know it.” There was a chime on Natasha’s end of the call. “I have to go. My other friend who can’t let go of the past wants to buy me lunch.”

“I’m not-” She hung up on him. Clint sighed at the ceiling. “I’m fine.”

The ceiling fan gave a wobble. Apparently even inanimate objects thought he was full of shit.

* * *

The second photo was a man who sold 0-8-4s on the black market. He’d been in hiding for three years ever since he’d killed four children during a test. Clint put an arrow through his eye and good riddance.

The third photo was a chemist who made what he claimed were designer drugs. Whatever it actually was people were shooting into their veins, it was basically Meth on Meth. Twenty people in Slovenia had died from taking ‘Seek’ before anyone figured out what was going on. As far as SHIELD could tell, no one survived more than five or six doses of it. One less guy peddling drugs to teenagers? Clint was happy to help.

All three missions had two things in common. They were all people Clint had heard about before and didn’t require briefings and they were all horrible people, who hurt other people for fun.

The fourth photo? Clint had no idea who the guy in the fourth photo was. Clint didn’t want to judge the guy by his face, but he didn’t have the look of a crazed maniac, mafioso or any of the other things that would attract SHIELD’s attention. Maybe he was a metahuman? Clint was good with faces, why couldn’t he place the man?

“Let’s go.” Sitwell was already out of his chair, duffle over one shoulder. “We’re taking a car, he’s only over in Greenwich Village.”

Clint didn’t get up. “Sir, I think you skipped the briefing part of this briefing. Who is this guy? What’s he done?” Why was Clint supposed to kill him?

“No, I didn’t. Go get your gear.” Sitwell’s expression had closed off. This had to be a test. This wasn’t how SHIELD did things. “The target is Level Seven classified.”

“Tell me something, Sitwell. Who or what is this guy?” Clint wasn’t going to just kill a man because Sitwell handed him a photo.

“He’s a threat. You eliminate threats. That’s your job.” Sitwell’s tone was flat, but Clint thought he looked a little desperate. “So lets go.”

Clint flipped the photo over. Nothing on the back. “No.”

Sitwell dropped his bag. It thudded and for a second Clint thought Sitwell was going to draw his sidearm and shoot him right then and there. “This is your line, Barton? After all these years, have we finally found something the Amazing Hawkeye won’t do? Or is it because it’s me asking and not Phil?”

If Clint was being honest with himself, yeah, he probably would have killed a man on nothing more than Phil’s say-so. Phil had earned it, Sitwell hadn’t. “Yes, sir, this is my line.”

Sitwell pushed past Clint’s chair, grabbed the phone on his desk and punched in an extension. “I need a new sniper, now.” He covered the receiver with his hand. "Get out of my office, Barton."

It wasn't a test. "And go where?"

"Away." He turned his back to Clint and spoke into the phone. "No, I need someone better than that. Put me through to STRIKE."

Clint left. As he walked down to Reception, he kept expecting someone to stop him, to detain him, but no one did. He made it to his car, then to his apartment without any problem. Even though it was the middle of the day, he went back to bed and stared at the stain on the ceiling and the wobbling ceiling fan.

He was so fucked.

* * *

Sitwell didn't summon him for three days, plenty of time for Clint to think about his life, his career, his dead partner and to seriously consider throwing it all away and going vigilante. In the end, he decided to take his lumps and went in to the meeting.

He'd expected to be punished. Six months in Barrow guarding Blonsky? A transfer to the desert? Maybe they'd sent him to admin, make him fly a desk with May. This, this was worse than he'd imagined.

Maybe he'd heard wrong. He readjusted his hearing aid. "Sorry, can you say that again?"

"You're being transferred. You'll be providing security for a joint venture archeological dig." Sitwell didn't sound angry. He didn't sound happy either, like he thought this was what Clint deserved. "In Antarctica."

Okay, maybe he had heard Sitwell right. Still, "What are we digging up in Antarctica?"

"An alien garbage dump."

"Okay, don't tell me." Someone would brief him when he got there. "What, exactly, am I providing security from at the South Pole?"

"The staff have all seen 'The Thing' and want some extra firepower." Sitwell handed him a thick mission packet. "You'll want to go to Requisitions now. It's going to take them a few days to get everything you need." 

* * *

“I’m being transferred.” Clint shouldered his cell phone as he dug through the desk. The number for the property manager had to be in here somewhere.

“I’ll make up the couch.” A man screamed somewhere in the background.

“Nat, are you busy?” He found the business card tucked behind an expired frozen yogurt coupon. “I can call back.”

“No, it’s fine.” There was a loud slamming sound, then a man starting sobbing. “I’m almost done here.”

“I’m not coming to DC.” Clint had no idea what to pack. It was going to be a long and boring detail. Maybe he should call Sharon and ask what she did on Steve-watching duty.

Something exploded. “West coast? That’ll make Audrey happy.”

“No. I can’t say.” It was embarrassing, and classified. He was almost grateful for the classified part.

“Do you need an extra suitcase? I still have the one I got in Rome.” If you didn’t know their private code, it probably sounded like a sincere offer.

“No, it’s fine.” He gave the all clear back to her. “That suitcase is so ugly, Nat. It has gold fringe.”

“That’s so you can always find your luggage. What did you do, Clint?”

“Nothing.” The exact thing he’d done for her, once. He hadn’t been with SHIELD very long then. A big part of him had expected to be shot on sight and someone less valuable might have been. It was stupid to think he’d get away with it a second time.

“Summer in the City is miserable anyway.”

Clint looked at the bright orange parka he’d been issued. “Yeah.” 

* * *

  
McMurdo station faded away behind them as Clint huddled into his jacket. The head scientist had come out to meet him and the two of them were in the back of the chopper. “So, what did you do to get shipped up here?”

“I made the wrong call.” The whole operation up here was like an episode of Stargate, which probably enhanced the cover. “You?”

“Let’s just say my last posting was a disaster.” They flew, mostly in silence, towards the South Pole, past Davis and Mawsom and Dome A. Just when Clint was sure they were taking him to the middle of nowhere to murder him, he could see the outline of a small building. It wasn’t much bigger than a house but there was a helipad outside. “Protip. No Stargate jokes. They got old about two weeks in.”

“Thanks.” Clint stepped out of the chopper into the frigid air and grabbed the lead line. He wasn’t dying out here, especially not on the first day.

Once they were side, the guy pushed back his hood and held out a hand. “Doctor Kevin Conway.”

“Clint Barton.” There was a flicker of recognition on Kevin’s face. “Someone’s been telling stories.”

“Yeah, but not just that.” Kevin punched a button and called the elevator. Apparently everything was below ground, not a bad idea. “You know a guy named Coulson?”

“I did.” Clint didn’t want to reminisce with someone who’d been at a joint op once upon a time. He wished the elevator was faster.

“We worked together. At the Guest House.” Kevin said the last two words in a rush, so Clint was pretty sure he hadn’t heard that right. “Last time I saw him, he said he was going home to you. Didn’t work out?”

“He died.” The elevator doors finally opened and rescued him. “In New York.”

“Sorry to hear that. He was a hell of an agent.” There were only two buttons, an up and down arrow and Kevin hit the down button.

The elevator shaft was cut straight into the ice and it felt like they descended forever. Eventually, the shaft opened up up into a cavern and the elevator came to a rest on what looked like solid ground. There were people sorting through an enormous pile of garbage. “Wait, are we actually excavating a giant pile of garbage?”

“We are.” Kevin rolled back the cage door. “Welcome to the Heap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth photo is, of course, Cumberbatch's Doctor Strange


	3. Chapter 3

“Actual garbage.” He followed Kevin off the elevator and towards a row of low buildings. “In Antarctica.”

“It’s alien garbage.” Kevin pounded on the door marked Security. “I’ll introduce you to the Chief and he’ll set you up with a room and an assignment.”

The door swung open and the man behind it looked about as happy to see Clint as Clint was to see him. “Agent Barton.”

“Agent Wilcox.” Clint had a list of people he never wanted to see again. Loki was at the top of the list, followed by Trickshot, the Swordsman and a guy who’s name he’d never caught who broke all Clint’s fingers. Despite all that, Wilcox was still in the top five.

Wilcox tossed a set of keys at Clint’s head. “You’ll be on overnight guard duty, guarding the librarians. You’ve got a room in E-Block. I lost a coin toss with the guy at Barrow and got stuck with you so the less I see of you the better. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir.” If Clint didn’t eat, didn’t unpack and went to sleep right now he might be able to squeeze in four hours. “I’ll do my best to be invisible.”

The tension would have been obvious to an inanimate object so of course Kevin knew something was wrong. “I can show him around.”

“Great.” Wilcox practically crushed Clint’s foot slamming the door.

“Okay…” Kevin gestured at another non-descript building. “That’s Echo. Sorry about Wilcox. He really hates you.”

“I know. He was head of security on the Helicarrier.” Clint had killed a lot of people on Wilcox’s watch and it didn’t matter to him that Loki had been mind controlling him. Wilcox had testified at Clint’s reinstatement hearing, and he wasn’t the only person who advised against letting Clint come back to work but he was the only one who’d had to be dragged of the witness stand. “Is everyone here on someone’s shit list?”

They passed a team cataloging what looked like chip bags. “We’re two miles under the ice spitting distance from the South Pole trying to learn an alien language from junk food labels. So yeah.”

“Great.” Clint had apparently been sent to the island of misfit toys to guard people digging through garbage who were afraid of a movie monster. So much for being the world’s greatest marksman. Also, Phil would have loved this and Clint missed him.

* * *

The first week, Clint tried to be social, he really did. On his day off, he went to the informal bar set up behind the geo-thermal building. The minute he walked in the door, all conversation stopped. It was like a Western, a few people actually shoved their chairs back and ran out.

The woman behind the bar fumbled the glass she’d been drying. She looked like she wanted to run too. “Can I get you something?”

“Never mind.” Obviously, Wilcox had told everyone what had happened. He wasn’t going to find many friends in the military contingent.

Not that he had much better luck with the science team. They showed older films in the Imaging lab on Friday nights after second shift and no one ran out of the room when he took a chair, but the room settled into icy silence. It wasn't worth the stares to see Vin Diesel run around playing D&D in a big budget film.

Even if he'd wanted to try again, the next morning the head librarian came to see him. "I'd appreciate it if you found something else to do on your off nights, Agent Barton. We all know what you did, and it's bad enough to have you staring at us all night while we work. We don't need you around on our night off."

This wasn't just exile in a frozen circle of hell. Sitwell had sent Clint to a place where it was impossible to make allies, let alone friends. 

* * *

"Playing with you is no fun." Kevin's card skimmed off the rim of the hard hat they were pitching cards into. The light streaming through the view holes was absolutely worth the long ride to the surface. Clint came up as much as possible.

"That's sort of the point." He'd been doing this particular bit since he was a kid busking before Carson shows. "You practice a couple hours a day for a few years and you'll get pretty good too."

"You stole that from Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day."

"We're in Groundhog's Day." There was a lot of medical drinking at The Heap, but Clint wasn't far enough gone to drink alone in his room yet. He'd rather die of boredom than end up a drunk.

"You can blame that on Coulson." The next card flew wide. "He could be very convincing. When he wanted to shut down the project, he gave us a speech that was worthy of an action movie. The next thing I know, Danvers and I are siding with him against the brass."

"He was good like that. He believed in heroes." Clint threw a card and it wafted serenely into the hat. "That's what killed him, believing in us. It was my fault."

"Wilcox told us. He told everyone." The next card landed a foot short. "For what it's worth, I don't think you're a dangerous loose cannon with no remorse."

"Thanks." An alarm on Clint's phone went off. "Time to go watch the garbage."

"Shit, is it that late?" Kevin flung one more card. It skittered across the lip of the hat and slid into the center. "Huh. I got one."

* * *

"So, what are you doing for Halloween?"

He'd actually managed to catch Natasha on the phone. He was pathetically glad to hear her voice. "Working." If there was a party planned, Clint wasn't invited. "Not much else to do here."

"I'm pretty sure I outrank you now. Just tell me where they sent you. You're in Barrow, aren't you? I can get there on commercial airlines."

"I'm not in Barrow." He wished like hell Wilcox had won that coin toss. At least in Alaska he could leave the base. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"I read people for a living, Clint. If I believed you, I would deserve to be fired."

"What do you want from me, Nat?" SHIELD wasn't the kind of job you quit, especially when you'd been in as long as Clint had. If he was lucky, a STRIKE team would catch him asleep. If he wasn't lucky, it would be Steve Rogers' STRIKE team.

"I want you to come to DC so I can make sure they didn't replace you with an LMD."

Well, Clint wanted his partner back so they were both out of luck.

* * *

Clint got off duty at 8 am. He usually went straight up to the surface so he could avoid the breakfast rush and get some sun.

Of course, today there wasn't going to be any sun. Twilight had set in and the sun never crossed the horizon.

He checked the time and dialed Portland. "Clint? Is that you? How are you?"

"Morning. Or afternoon." Not that it mattered here. "I was dreaming last night about that trip we took to Fort Lauderdale. That was a good trip."

"Clint, that was the worst vacation I've ever had. You got second degree sunburn." Oh yeah, Clint had forgotten about that. "And I got food poisoning."

"Mostly I was dreaming about swimming in the ocean." Which was how he'd the sunburn, now that he thought about it. "If I ever get leave, can we go someplace sunny? California, maybe."

"Sure, Clint." He could hear the worry in her voice. "You've never been out in the field so long. Is something wrong? Should I start stock piling toilet paper?"

That made Clint smile. "No apocalypse that I know of. Just a tough gig."

"Alright. Stay safe, Clint. I miss you."

"Miss you too." The only dangerous thing up here was boredom. "Are you going to practice? Can I listen for a while?"

* * *

"He's completely resistant to flirting. Do you think it's because Director Carter is still alive?"

"I don't know." Clint pulled his pillow over his face. "Just let it go, Nat. Leave him be. You're getting obsessed."

"I can't let it go. The guy has nothing to live for, Clint." So much for this not being Natasha's job. "He's actually as good as Phil always said he was. I can't let him pine away like this."

Natasha could be single minded when she set herself a task. "What about Sharon?"

"That might work. She did say his abs looked like they'd been been chiseled from marble."

* * *

"How many hours a day do you sleep?" Kevin slid in at the seat across the table from him.

“Twelve? Fourteen? I had a pretty big sleep deficit when I got here.” The less time Clint spent awake and off duty the better.

“That’s not good. You know that, right?” Kevin shook ketchup onto his eggs and passed the bottle over. “People go nuts up here.”

“I’m fine.” As fine as anyone could be eating powdered eggs in a place he hated and in a month where the sun never rose.

“Sure.” Kevin poked his eggs and took a reluctant bite. “That’s why we’re eating an hour after everyone else and you sleep 90% of the time you’re off duty.”

Clint really should ask why Kevin wasn’t afraid of him like everyone else but all the answers involved Phil and that just wasn’t going to happen today.

“Maybe you could get a hobby or something.” Kevin took a bite of toast just as the loud speaker called him to the radio room. Through a mouth of crumbs he said, “That’s… weird.”

“Maybe they found a new flavor of alien snack cake.” Kevin was nominally in charge of the science team, they would alert him about something that exciting.

“Yeah, probably.” But he left right away, breakfast half uneaten and getting less appetizing by the second.

An hour later, he flung open the door to Clint’s room without knocking, pale as a sheet. “Something’s wrong. Can I use your phone? All my gear is owned by the Air Force.”

“Sure.” Clint handed it over, expecting him to leave. Instead, he sat down at Clint’s desk and dialed.

“I got a phone. We’re as safe as we can be here. Tell me what’s going on.” Whoever was on the other end of the line wasn’t being very reassuring, since Kevin had a death grip on the phone. “Do you think they took him?” A pause. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” He looked worse when he hung up instead of better. “Do you have any liquor in here?”

“It’s ten a.m.” Clint almost wished he did, because now he was going to have to brave the bar before Kevin ended up in a puddle on his floor.

“Never mind. Someone led a strike on the Guest House last night. It’s gone.” Kevin bowed his head and took a couple deep breaths. “TAHITI had been decommissioned. The only thing of any value there anymore was… Someone stole Mar’s body. That had to be what they were after.”

Even telling him this much was probably a security violation, but really, who else was there to talk to up here? Clint got him a glass of water and a trash can. “Just calm down, okay? You’re freaking me out.”

Kevin downed the water in a couple gulps and stared at the bottom of the trashcan like it had answers. “Is there anyone at SHIELD you still trust? We need to reach out.”

“There’s one.” He trusted Natasha with his life and she’d been as gentle with it as she could. Clint thumbed through his contacts until he got to the R’s. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her something’s rotten in your house. This leak didn’t come from us.” 

* * *

  
“I told Fury.”

“Why? Why would you do that to me?” Clint wasn’t sure there was anywhere worse to send him but for digging around in Fury’s business he would probably think of something.

“He agrees with you, oddly enough, but he won’t tell me what’s worrying him. All I know is something’s off. May’s gone from Admin.”

“Really?” Melinda had been pretty adamant about never setting foot in the field again. “Where’d she go?”

“Fury won’t say. If it was me? She’s leading a team, probably on that mobile command unit the repair crews won’t shut up about.”

The 90’s-style MCU had always been one of Phil’s fantasy commands. Clint couldn’t quite see Melinda in the big office, it wasn’t her style. “Do you know what they’re doing?”

“A few people dropped off the face of the planet about the same time May did. A biologist, an engineer, and a sniper. I’m hearing rumors about a new civilian consultant who’s good with computers. With a team like that, they could be doing anything.”

“With a team like that, they’re hunting 0-8-4s or the Gifted or both.” It would have taken something big to get Melinda back in a field suit, something Fury was hiding from everyone else.

“Where are you, Clint?”

“Jugged, at the Heap.” It was too late to leave, with winter setting in, unless someone sent an emergency rescue mission and no one liked him that much anymore. “I’m safe enough.”

“Stay that way.” 

* * *

  
They were hiding out on the surface, since no one else came up here. “Stop pacing.”

“I can’t.” Ever since the Guest House blew up, Kevin had been on edge. Clint couldn’t really blame him. “Did Coulson ever tell you what we were really doing out there?”

“Above my paygrade.” They’d had ten years of maintaining operational security, they could keep secrets from each other if they had to.

"We had an alien body we were experimenting on." Okay, that had to be seventy kinds of classified. "He was a friend, as crazy as that sounds."

"Post New York, nothing sounds crazy." Clint had fought shoulder to shoulder with the actual Thor, why wouldn't the Air Force have an alien on their crew?

"We told SHIELD we found him dead but that was a lie. He'd been working with us for years before the accident. That's how we found this." Kevin gestured at the elevator door. "Someone made a joke he didn't understand and he told Danvers about it."

"You know there's nothing either of us could do from here." Clint's phone started ringing. That was probably bad. No one ever called him, he called them. "It's Natasha. Hello?"

"Get out. Get out now and get as far away as you can." Natasha sounded deadly serious and Clint's first instinct was to do as she said but there was nothing but death outside.

"I can't." Winter at the South Pole was settling in nicely. Their last shipment had been over a week ago.

"SHIELD is compromised."

No, that wasn't right. He must have heard it wrong. "How can the whole organization be compromised?"

"Clint, please. Stop what you're doing and go. Fury's dead."

"Clint?" Kevin tugged on Clint's elbow. "The elevator is coming."

"I'm not being stubborn. There is nowhere to go." Clint looked at the thermometer on the wall. He didn't have a sidearm, let alone his jacket, and his bow was locked up in the armory. "I'm in Antarctica."

"Jesus, Clint." She muffled the phone and told someone, "He's at the South Pole."

"Clint, the elevator." If this came down to a fight, Kevin was going to be zero help.

Someone, and Clint was pretty sure it was Steve Rogers, said, "We need to go."

"Hold on." Natasha turned her attention back to him. "Clint, we need to go. If we make it out of this alive, I'll come for you." They never said goodbye at each other, no matter how bad things were. "I have to go. Don't die."

"You too." Clint hung up and put his phone away. The elevator was slowly making its way up. "Can we go? Dome A, back to McMurdo, anywhere?" The surface building was an empty shell, all Clint could see was a couple of shovels. He grabbed one.

"It's April." Kevin took the other shovel. "We're at the South Pole, we don't have any gear and it's fifty degrees below zero. Oh, and everyone else hates you. So no, we can't go anywhere."

"My friend Natasha is on the run from our employers, with Captain America. Just so you understand how fucked we are."

The elevator came to a stop and the door slip open. Wilcox stepped out, a dozen armed men behind him. He leveled his rifle at Clint. "Don't make a move. I don't need much of an excuse to end you."

Clint twisted the plastic blade off the shovel and hefted the shaft. "Let's face it, Wilcox. You don't need an excuse at all."

"You're right." Wilcox stepped aside and that's when Clint saw the net gun. 

* * *

  
When they were finished beating him so badly he could barely move, they threw him in a cell. Clint hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. He screamed, he couldn't help it, something in his arm was broken.

Wilcox loomed over him. "I thought you should know, Romanoff and Rogers were taken into custody. Your little mutiny is over."

"What mutiny?" Clint spat blood in Wilcox's general direction. It wasn't as satisfying as he hoped.

"If it were up to me, you'd be dead already. Someone thinks you're still valuable." Wilcox reached down and took off Clint's hearing aid, then walked out of the cell. Clint hoped he was imagining the Nazi salute the guard gave him as he passed and he really hoped what the man shouted wasn't, "Hail HYDRA!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kree body at the Guest House is assumed to be Mar Vel, the original Captain Marvel who's death woke Carol Danver's Inhuman powers.


	4. Chapter 4

April 2015  
One Year Later…

He'd been alone down here for almost a year when they brought a second prisoner in.

She was cuffed but fighting like hell. Until he saw her face, Clint hoped for one glorious moment that it was May, the Calvary riding in to save him, but even though she fought like May, she was too young and her style wasn't fluid enough.

Clint rolled over on his bunk, turned his back. His head hurt, bad enough to make him worry. The guards hadn’t appreciated him taking an extra 30 seconds to shower. There’d been a lot of blood when they’d cracked his head against the wall.

Whoever she was didn’t matter. There was no way out. He’d tried.

Someone was shaking him, not one of the guards. It was the woman, standing in his cell. He stared at her mouth and the sounds formed words. “Hey. Open your eyes.”

The bars between their cell were on the floor. How had she done that?

“Jesus. Guys, there’s someone else down here. What’s your name?” She was checking him for injuries, which was pointless. He hurt everywhere. “Come on, stay with me. We’re getting you out of here. I’m Skye. What’s your name?”

“Barton.” She found his broken rib and everything went black again.

The world faded in and out. At some point, he was hauled to his feet, one arm over Skye’s shoulder and one over a man’s. “-eful, Mac.”

When he came to again, he could swear he was laying in the middle of the compound while the earth shook.

Somehow, in the next blink, they were in the elevator. Someone pressed a comm unit into his ear. His hearing came back all at once. “Almost there. You’re doing great.”

“Kevin. We can’t leave him.” Clint tried to stand on his own but almost pitched forward.

Mac hauled him back up between him. “Doctor Conway’s not down there. We’re bringing you to the Director, Barton. Just rest.”

Wilcox had said Fury was dead. He’d said a lot of things.

There was a burst of cold air as they stepped out of the surface building. There was a mobile command unit parked next to the helipad. SHIELD had come for him.

The last thing he saw before he blacked out again was a body bag. 

* * *

  
The pain that had been with him, even while he slept, for the past year went away. It was nice, even if it meant he was probably dying.

He kept dreaming about Phil, so if this was how he died at least he wasn’t alone.

“Jemma says you might be able to hear me. I’m so sorry, Clint. We’ve been looking for you but we aren’t exactly the military’s favorite people right now. The only way we found the base at all was the Obelisk. I’m going to owe Gordon for the rest of my life.”

“Natasha’s en-route. She muted her phone but I think she cried when I told her we had you. She said you’re moving into the Tower where she can keep an eye on you.”

“I may have adopted a junior agent while you were gone. Skye. She’s the one who pulled you out. She’s amazing. You two are going to cause so much trouble when you wake up.”

“I’m so sorry I died, Clint. By the time I woke up, you were already on loan to the Air Force. Sitwell said it was for your own protection. He had a disciplinary file a half inch thick, missions you took on without orders, skipped counseling sessions. I thought you were safer where you were, I swear.”

“I didn’t know who the trust. I made a lot of bad calls. Jasper was HYDRA. John was HYDRA. Grant Ward was HYDRA. He was on my bus, Clint.”

“Your friend didn't make it. You barely made it. Jemma reset your arm, wrapped your ribs and… well, honestly, the rest of your body. When your bones heal, I’ll block you off as much range time as you want. Just… wake up. Please.”

* * *

  
The first time Clint really woke up, he was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. Bobbi was asleep in the chair next to the bed and there was a hearing aid on the bedside table. He fumbled it in. “Bobbi. Where am I?”

She sat up, instantly awake in a way that had always been terrifying. “This is the Playground. You scared the hell out of us.”

“Sorry?” He felt better than he had in a long time. They must have put the good stuff in his IV. “I’ve never heard of the Playground.”

“You know how Fury’s contingency plans have back ups.” She pressed the call button on the bed. “You’ve been missing for almost a year. Do you know how complicated it is to plan a mission to the South Pole?”

“I can imagine.” His mouth felt like something had crawled in and died. “How long was I out?”

“A week. You had some internal bleeding and a skull fracture on top of the stuff we could see.” She grabbed a water bottle off the nightstand and cracked it open. “Here. I’d give you gum but I don’t think he even cares at this point.”

“Who?” Clint swirled the water around his mouth. He wondered if she’d give him a phone so he could call Audrey. She’d probably be grateful to hear he was alive, even if the rest of it was over.

He almost spat the water in her face when she said, “Coulson. May dragged him out of here by force a couple hours ago.”

“Phil’s dead. I saw it.” He hadn’t really believed it, not until he’d seen him in the drawer at the morgue.

Bobbi shrugged. “Coulson came back from the dead, the villain was really SHIELD all along, our hacker is some kind of genetic aberration… Life has been sorta weird, honestly.”

The door opened. “Welcome back, Clint.”

“I’ll leave you guys to catch up.” Bobbi gave Clint another sip of water. “Be gentle with him, Coulson. He’s mostly held together with tape.” Then she was gone and they were alone.

“I thought you were dead.” It probably wasn’t all an elaborate trap, not if Bobbi was involved. The hug he got from Phil was gentle enough for his cracked ribs and Clint clung to him, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt. “I thought I killed you.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Phil gave him a squeeze but didn’t let go. “I may have promised you some things when you were asleep I can’t make good on right now. We’re sort of fugitives.”

“Fugitives from who? What the hell has been happening?”

* * *

  
Phil parked Lola across the street from Audrey’s house. “She’s not going to be happy to see me. I may have hidden like a coward when we saved her from Blackout.”

“You don’t have to come in but you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Clint got out of the car. “You can’t hide forever, Phil.”

He was halfway across the street when the driver’s door opened and shut. Clint rapped on the front door. He still looked like the mummy, he was pretty sure she’d go easy on him. That might give Phil an opening.

An eye appeared in the peephole and the door was flung open. “Clint! You’re not dead.”

“Hey.” He took the hug she offered gratefully, still touch starved from his year in solitary. “Sorry I was out of touch so long. I brought you something.”

“You look like someone beat you with a stick. We can skip over the trinket from whatever hell hole…” The red of the car must have caught her eye. “You found her. Please tell me you didn’t disappear for a year and come back to me half dead for Phil’s midlife crisis car.”

“She’s not a midlife crisis car.”

Audrey’s arms tightened painfully around Clint’s ribs. “Phil?”

“Hello, Audrey.” Phil was standing behind him, their suitcase in one hand, like a dozen other weekends they’d spent here before everything went to hell. “Can we come in?”

-End-


End file.
